


Maybe love

by Akikofuma



Series: Witcher Prompts [4]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternative Meeting, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Boys In Love, Canon-Typical Violence, Competend!Jaskier, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Fae!Jaskier, Feelings, Fluff, M/M, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Prompt Fill, Roach is the best, Soft!Jaskier, This is so much softer than I expected it would be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:22:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27251149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akikofuma/pseuds/Akikofuma
Summary: “Its been months, and I don’t even know your name.” Geralt gruffed, not at all expecting a reply.“Jaskier.”The word cut through the air like the most fragrant of perfumes, carrying the scents of raspberries and green apples, winding themselves around Geralt like a blanket.“My name is Jaskier.”Or: Geralt stumbles across a fae boy that will not leave his side. Feelings ensue.-------A prompt by the lovely @louie43p!"Gosh, I really need to think of a prompt for you...would you ever want to do a feral fae Jaskier (since I ADORE your creature Jaskier)? "
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Witcher Prompts [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1955077
Comments: 28
Kudos: 392





	Maybe love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [louie43p](https://archiveofourown.org/users/louie43p/gifts).



> So, another prompt fic! I loved the idea of fae Jaskier, so when I got the prompt, I just had to do it! 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy my version of fae Jaskier <3

Geralt had encountered many a strange beings in his life time.

He’d cured a princess from a curse that’d turned her into a striga. He’d almost died during it.

Once, he’d needed to buy new clothes, and was pointed towards a shop, owned by an Elf that had a rather- _unique_ hobby. Had greeted Geralt in womens clothing and urged him to quickly state his business before he left for the evening.

Godlings were an odd folk as well, with their large eyes, their short stature. Their skin came in different colors, but they all had eyes round as a plate.

All in all, Geralt hadn’t expected to be surprised after his first century walking the continent.

But of course, nothing ever went according to his plan.

“Stop putting flowers in her mane.” Geralt growled, doing his best to give an intimidating snarls. The boy- the _fae_ boy, turned to look at the Witcher over his shoulder, clearly unimpressed. Nimble, elegant fingers, just a _bit_ too long to look normal, continued their task as if he hadn’t spoken at all. Roach, the traitor, was standing still; allowing the treatment without protest. 

The fae cooed softly at his mare, followed by a chitter; its voice just as otherworldly as its perfect, fine features. It was like water, lapping at the Witchers shoes; like a warm summer breeze washing over his skin, despite the leaves having started turning brown, then dropping to the ground not two weeks ago. 

When happy, the fae filled the air with warmth, with soft scents of flowers in full bloom, fresh fruit, ripe and luscious, just waiting to be picked off a tree. 

Where ever the boy walked, the grass would sprout out of the ground to fill the footsteps it left behind in the dirt; sometimes joined by buttercups and dandelions when he was in particularly good spirits. 

Geralt still had no idea why it- he- why  _he_ was following the Witcher around. Fae were mostly peaceful, save for a bit of mischief. Some had the tendency to steal small, shiny objects from humans when given the chance. But as a general rule, they did not wander; preferring to find a place deep in the woods to build their home and remain there. 

Not this one. This one was stuck to him like the fucking plague. 

_Of course I’d stumble across the only fae with a fancy for traveling._ Geralt though, growling as he turned back to the fire he’d been assembling. Unwilling to piss the fae off too much. That, as he’d quickly learned, could have serious consequences. 

The wind would pick up and whip across the Witchers face, then, rain would follow. Not a soft summer rain that’d sometimes fall when Geralt needed a wash and there was no body of water close by. 

The droplets were chilled, cold, just at the line between rain and snow. The clouds would break open and it would pour, lightning illumination the sky from above as thunder rumbled across it. Down the rain came, winds tearing at the trees around them, whirling up the dust from dirt roads they traveled. It was never bad enough to cause  real damage, to rip trees out by the roots or the likes. No one had ever been harmed.

But it was fucking inconvenient, slowing him down and making the ground harder to travel, muddy as it turned whenever the fae was in a mood. 

He was getting so close. He couldn’t allow the boy to slow him down. Not when Kaer Morhen was calling him home for the winter. 

* * *

A few hours later, Geralt sat beside the fire, tearing chunks of meat from bone with his fangs. 

There were some perks to having a supernatural traveling companion. 

One of them was that he didn’t have to hunt anymore. The fae had taken that over from the very first night, gently placing the corpse of a deer at Geralts feet. He’d watched as the boy skinned it with care, handling it gently. Listened to the sounds the boy made as he worked. 

Once, Geralt had joined the peculiar being; wondering how it hunted with such efficiency that he barely had time to build a decent fire before he was being provided with a meal. What a strange scene had unfolded before him then.. even months later, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

* * *

_He watched as the boy stepped into a clearing, watched those unnaturally radiant eyes flutter shut; long, black lashes kissing pale skin. It took a minute, perhaps two, before a deer came wandering towards them._

_Geralt didn’t know what he had expected to happen, then. No doubt the fae could be dangerous when he wanted to- with fangs much like Geralts own, those long, delicate fingers, so much stronger than they seemed. The boy was slender, far from Geralts bulking, muscled frame. Geralt had only witnessed its strength a few days before, when it had rolled a boulder many times his size out of their path. So large in fact, even with the help of his potions, Geralt couldn’t move it a single inch._

_Perhaps he did know what he expected. A strike, quick but efficient._

_Instead, the fae walked forward, and embraced the animals neck. Rubbed his face against its cheeks, lips parted to give way to soft sounds and gentle hums. Gentle hands placed themselves at the animals neck, minutes spent simply standing. The deer never once moved._

_One second, it was standing, alive. The next, it was on the ground, motionless._

_The fae sat beside it, stroked its head. Continued whispering to it for a while longer before lifting it into his arms, and bring it back to camp._

* * *

Geralt still had no idea what had happened, or what the boy had been saying. All he knew was that the fae must have some sort of control over the animals, could communicate with them in some way. When he thought Geralt asleep, he’d talk to Roach, and the mare with answer with huffs or quiet knickers, as if they were having an actual conversation. 

He’d since grown used to various animals joining them at camp; currently there was a squirrel lounging on the fae’s shoulder, and a mountain lion, curled up by the fire. Purring contently whenever long fingers ran over its head, or scratched behind its ears, like an overgrown house cat, not the fierce predator it was. 

“You can’t come with me boy.” He grunted after finishing his meal, licking the juices off his fingers. “Kaer Morhen isn’t a place for fae.” 

The boy, as always, didn’t reply. Just glanced at Geralt with a smile that screamed mischief. Obviously amused by the Witcher; perhaps for thinking he could tell a being as powerful as him what he could, or couldn’t, do. 

“I mean it.” Geralt huffed. “Vesemir won’t stand for it. He’d try and cut you down before you stepped foot into the keep. If you resisted, I’d have to attack you. Blood would be shed. I know you understand me, boy.” 

Silence. 

Geralt sighed, rubbed a hand over his face. Why couldn’t he just fucking  _leave_ ? What did the boy want from him? 

“Its been months, and I don’t even know your name.” Geralt gruffed, not at all expecting a reply.

“Jaskier.” 

The word cut through the air like the most fragrant of perfumes, carrying the scents of raspberries and green apples, winding themselves around Geralt like a blanket.

“My name is Jaskier.”

* * *

_Geralt had fucked up._

_He was badly injured, his potion bottles shattered on the ground, sizzling as it hit the dirt._

_The bruxa stood above him_ _with a vicious grin spread across her face; lips red and dripping with his blood. This was where he was going to die. Because he’d been stubborn, cocky. Hadn’t wanted to idle and allow his wounds from his previous hunt to fully heal._

_His body would rot in the woods until there was nothing but bone left. He’d never see Eskel again, or Lambert. Vesemir. They’d never know what had happened to him. His medallion would never be returned to Kaer Morhen._

_Good, he’d thought. Let them never know how stupid he’d been. Let them think he’d died with some kind of honor. It was better that way._

_He’d closed his eyes and accepted his fate._

_But the final blow never came._

_Instead, the bruxa was screeching, hissing, gone absolutely wild. He didn’t have the strength to open his eyes again. He felt himself sag to the ground, his silver sword slipping from his grip. Whatever monster had come for the bruxa would surely finish him off, too. A few more minutes he could spend filling his mind with thoughts of the family he missed so much._

_The world fell silent. No more screams, no shuffling of feet. Only Geralt and the wind, softly kissing his skin. The scent of roses filling the air._

_He was being lifted; perhaps dragged back to the beasts layer, a more secure place to devour him. Geralt found he didn’t care. His mind was heavy, as was his body. Slowly slipping into a dream with an ease he’d never experienced before._

_With the last of his strength, he willed himself to catch a glance of what was about to kill him._

_All he saw where a pair of luminous blue eyes, and a vague shape of its head- strangely adorned with a pair of small antlers, like the ones he’d usually see on a young buck. Before he could understand the implications, Geralt was asleep._

* * *

They’d been walking in silence for most of the days. Since giving Geralt his name, the boy- Jaskier, had not spoken again. At least not in a language Geralt understood.

The Witcher allowed himself a moment to take Jaskier in.

He moved with such elegance, such grace, it was closer to dancing than walking. With seemingly inexhaustible energy and cheer, he pranced along the path, sometimes wandering off into the woods or into a field before returning to Geralt with a small offering.

An apple, sweet berries, or a corn cob; offering it to Geralt with a pleased little hum. Proud of himself for providing, maybe. Geralt didn’t know what else to do but accept whatever Jaskier brought him; more food was never a bad thing, and the fae seemed to have an unfailing instinct where to find more.

The antlers had grown, though not by much. Perhaps an inch, if Geralt was forced to guess. He didn’t allow himself to get close enough to be sure. 

Fae may be docile creatures, but that did not make them harmless. Jaskier had taken on a bruxa, and gotten away without a single scratch on him. That alone spoke volumes to the Witcher. 

* * *

_Geralt woke slowly, his mind sluggish as he tried to gain his bearings. The air smelled sweet again, like it had those last few moments before he’d passed out. His eyes felt heavy, his limbs like lead as he struggled to move._

_A sound he’d never heard before echoed above him, a cool, long-fingered hand coming to rest against his forehead. He was sweating, Geralt realized, likely fevered. It wasn’t unusual when he healed; his body working overtime to patch itself up._

_It was impossible to feel unsettled by a sound so soft, so enticing. The cool skin against his own was like heaven. He was resting comfortably, though he was sure he’d never left the forest. He could still smell the trees and the spring flowers, the dirt on the ground. Heard the wind rustling through the leafs overhead._

_Prying his eyes open, he was once more faced with those impossibly blue eyes, but now, he could take in everything about its face._

_Its features were fine, brows arched elegantly, lush, full lips slightly parted as it spoke to him. Eyelashes longer than he’d seen on any woman, sorceress or human._

“ _What are you?” He’d asked, his words coming out breathy, barely there; like his lungs couldn’t hold enough air. If he was given a reply, he did not hear it._

_Geralt slept._

* * *

Kaer Morhen was a  few days travel away. Jaskier was still with him. Even the snow lying thick and heavy on the ground could not deter the fae. Quite the opposite in fact. Where Geralt had to force a path for himself, Jaskier simply walked over the snow, like he weighed nothing at all. Left behind the most shallow of footprints, quickly covered again by a gust of wind disturbing the snow. 

He’d offered to make the path for Geralt, but damn it, he had his pride. He’d made the trek dozens of times with just Roach at his side; he’d do it on his own this time as well.

With his head lowered against the biting wind, it took too long before he noticed it.

Jaskier was gone.

When he lifted his head to growl at the boy, there was no sign of him. Just white as far as the eyes could see.

“Jaskier?” He called out, trying to make his voice carry over the howling wind. He wasn’t worried. He _wasn’t_. The fae could handle himself. There was no need to fret.

“Jaskier!” He barked again, turning around to look behind himself, but there was only Roach, staring back at him with big, brown eyes.

Nothing. He was alone.

Geralt couldn’t stop the frustrated growl that forced its way out of his chest. Stupid boy. For months he’d been pestering Geralt, and now, he’d just disappeared. Like he’d never been there in the first place.

“’course he fucks off now.” He grumbled to Roach, making his way forward once more. “The one time he’d be useful for hunting. Gonna be a bitch to track anything in this.”

They needed to rest soon. Roach was tiring, and so was he.

The next formation of boulders he came across, he stopped at. They were tall enough to shield them from the worst of the wind. No fire would survive here, not to mention that he lacked any wood to build one with. He fed Roach, and then himself. He didn’t have many provisions left; a few bites of stale bread would have to do.

Night was falling, and the later the hour grew, the more agitated the Witcher became.

There was still no sign of Jaskier. Had the fae really gone? Why now, halfway up the mountain, when there had been more than ample opportunity to leave before? Had he listened to Geralt after all, abandoned the idea of joining him at Kaer Morhen?

And why did Geralt care so much?

Jaskier had been a pain, a constant source of noise and annoyance, insisting on foolish things like braiding Geralts hair and adorning Roachs mane with flowers. Had spent hours singing to trees for no reason at all every night.  His absence should be a relief. 

It was far from relief. 

Silence settled itself heavily around the Witcher, something he’d thought he’d yearned for. Now that his wish was granted, it grated on him. He’d never before needed any company other that Roachs, had come to terms with his solitude. But now he’d experienced what it was like, to have a constant companion at his side. 

Fuck. He  _missed_ him.

“Gone soft.” He grumbled, to no one in particular. 

“You look quite sturdy to me.” Geralt would never admit that he’d startled. 

There Jaskier stood, like nothing had happened; grinning wide to show off pearly white teeth, just a hint too pointed to be human, shining in the moonlight. In one arm he carried a few dead rabbits,  fire wood tucked under his shoulder, but  in the other- 

“..Are those moonflowers?” Geralt asked, perplexed. “How did you even-” 

“Ah ah! I have to keep some of my secrets to myself, Geralt dear. Keep up the mystic.” Jaskier plopped his haul onto the ground. Before he could stop himself, Geralt had reached out for the flower. 

It was impossible. These flowers, rare and an important ingredient for strong potions, only bloomed during the night, for a single week in late spring.  They only grew high up in the mountains, in places even Witchers had trouble accessing. Vesemir no longer went that far into the mountains. Their supply had long since run dry.

So how,  _how_ had Jaskier gotten hold of them? 

He brushed his fingertips along a petal, marveling at how delicate it was, how beautiful. A rare treasure. 

“Geralt.” Jaskier chuckled, pulling Geralt from his reverence. “Do you like them?” 

“Hmm.” Of course he liked them. Presenting them to Vesemir, watching the mans face light up... The older mutant had a love for botany and anything related to it. The joy these would bring him.

“I thought you could give them to Vesemir.” Jaskier said, placing the rabbits over the fire, idly turning them. “But I’d also like for you to keep one yourself.” 

“Why?” It was a strange request. What was he supposed to do with a single moonflower? 

“Because if you keep the flower I presented you with you accept my courting.” 

Geralt spluttered. Stared at Jaskier in disbelief. Opened his mouth to speak, only to close it again. 

“Oh don’t give me that look!” Jaskier huffed, pouting. “You _had_ to know thats what it was. You’re a Witcher, didn’t they teach you about all the creatures out in the world?”

“How- how to _kill_ them.” Geralt forced out, still not quite believing what he’d just heard. “Not about fae courting. _Any_ kind of courting.”

“How do you find your mates then?” Jaskier asked, incredulous. “If you have no way to make your intentions clear?”

“We don’t have mates. We’re Witchers, boy. We live in solitude.” 

“Rubbish.” Jaskier quipped. “You go home for winter every year. Spend months with your family. That’s _not_ solitude.” 

“That’s- fucking different.” Geralt grunted. “They’re not lovers, its not- like that.” 

“So, you’re a virgin?” 

Geralt groaned. 

“Why the hell have you suddenly become so chatty?” Geralt grunted, shaking his head. How had he gotten here, talking to a fae about courting and mating. “I’ve fucked, Jaskier. Mostly whores. But that’s all it is.”

“How incredibly depressing.” Jaskier huffed, slinking his way to sit beside Geralt, just as he’d done many times before. “It doesn’t have to be that way. If you don’t want it to.” 

G eralt could feel those blue, blue eyes on him. Searching. Waiting. 

He didn’t have the courage to actually make eye contact. Mulled offer what he was being offered. It seemed ridiculous. Preposterous. Witchers didn’t  _have_ relationships. No one would love a mutant like him, would want to put up with his moods, his flaws. Living like a nomad for most of the year, often without little coin; a rough, hard, thankless life. 

N o one fawned over Witchers, or cared about their needs, their wants. It just wasn’t-  _possible_ .

But the more he thought about it- hadn’t Jaskier been doing exactly that? 

He’d made sure Geralt was fed. He’d protected him. Looked after him when he was injured. Had brought the Witcher small tokens of his affection; knowing exactly what Geralt liked and what he hated.  Had always had camp waiting for him, his bedroll laid out, food waiting.. 

“I- don’t know.” He finally said. 

“You don’t know if you want it to be like that?” Jaskier questioned gently. 

“I don’t know what love feels like.” Geralt corrected, equally soft. “Not outside of the love you have for family. I can’t- I don’t want to lead you on.” 

“That’s kind of you.” He could hear the smile on the fae’s lips, felt fingertips brush along the side of his face. “Maybe it is love. Maybe it’s not. It doesn’t have to be, not right away. We have time to figure things out.” 

“What if it isn’t?” _What if it is, and I ruin it?_

Geralt already knew the answer. Jaskier would surely leave. He’d be alone again. The thought alone made him want to retch. 

“Seeing into the future isn’t one of my talents, I’m afraid.” Jaskier stated, leaning his head against Geralts shoulder. “We might be friends; or at least, good memories to each other. Though I have to admit- I am quite smitten with you already.” 

“Hmm.” Geralt wished he was better at expressing himself. Better at emotions all together. What was he supposed to do with any of this? Finally, he turned his head, took in the boys face. The soft brown locks of his hair. The cute, knubbly little antlers he’d grown so fond of. Could he love him? Could he love at all? 

Was he willing to find out?

_Yes_ .

Gently taking hold of Jaskiers chin, Geralt tilted it upwards; moving in what felt like slow motion, allowing Jaskier every chance to pull away. He watched as long lashes fluttered as the fae’s eyes fell shut. 

The kiss they shared was sweet. 

Jaskier tasted of berries, though he could not pin down which. His lips prickled at the contact, warmth spreading outward from where their skin met, all along his body. 

Kissing Jaskier felt  _good_ .

Like sinking into a hot bath after a fight; like eating a full meal for the first time in months; like sleeping somewhere warm and soft, knowing he was safe. The first rays of sunlight after a storm. 

They broke apart, but Geralt didn’t move far. Pressing their foreheads together, he inhaled deeply the scent of this wondrous being he’d stumbled upon. 

“Maybe it is.” Geralt whispered. “Maybe, it already is.” 


End file.
